


Bright Lights

by HauntedByDayDreams



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Castiel dies protecting Dean, Castiel has a soul, Dean Winchester Dies, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Heaven, I torture them because I love them, M/M, Protective Castiel, but okay I gave them a happy ending at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-06 20:51:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8768812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HauntedByDayDreams/pseuds/HauntedByDayDreams
Summary: He bears the weight of Castiel's death in every breath of every day- it seems only right that the reminder should be something as physical as it is visceral.





	

Dean is dying.

He knows this because, of course, this has happened before. These cold shivers, the bubbling of blood and bile at the back of his throat, the encroaching black fingers grasping at the edges of his vision- he's lived it, and died from it. Dean Winchester is dying, but currently he's too numb to care very much.

There is a flutter of movement somewhere below him, somewhere out of sight, but it is enough for Dean to remember. _Cas!_ he rasps, voice hardly more than a whisper, and he begs his frozen limbs to move. They don't cooperate, heavy and leaden and numb, but with a slow, aching heave of his lungs he manages to speak, a barely discernible sound over the wind.

Castiel is there, then, maybe seconds later, maybe minutes. It doesn't matter. Dean can't keep track of time anymore, which is ironic, considering he could count the minutes he had left on his fingers. Castiel's face is pinched with pain, worry- more than anything, there is sorrow. Unadulterated, agonising sorrow. Blood trickles and light blooms from the many lacerations across the angel's stomach, the bright red and blue a stark contrast against the shredded white of his shirt. Castiel doesn't pay it any attention. His hands, his eyes, his breath, it is all on Dean as he takes him gently into his arms.

"You were supposed to be spared," Castiel is saying, his face crumpling in a very human way, "you were supposed to live." There is something vaguely heart-wrenching about his expression; about the shine to his eyes; about the shake to his lips.

Dean can't speak, can hardly think, but Castiel seems to know what he wants; Dean's face is buried in his angel's chest as Castiel wraps his arms around him so very tightly, chapped lips pressing against his forehead. The irony smell of blood infiltrates Dean's lungs. A button on Castiel's lapel is digging uncomfortably into his cheekbone. He doesn't care. He craves the touch all the same.

"All I wanted was to save you, and now I can't even do that." Castiel's voice is broken, shriveled, a wisp of a sound swallowed up by the wind. Dean feels the vibrations where his skin is pressed to his throat when he speaks. "Dean, I..."

Castiel looks down at him. Dean can feel his gaze like sunlight through a magnifying glass, burning through skin and muscle and bone and seeing straight through to his very soul. Castiel's arm wraps around Dean's head, cradling his neck like a newborn, lowering him gently back down to the grass. Dean wants to protest, to spring back into Castiel's arms again, but the plea dies on his lips before it ever reaches the air. He's too exhausted.

Castiel's eyes are murky, under brows pulled into a distraught line. "Dean, please remember me. Remember this- that I- that I always needed you. I always cared for you."

That's not right, Dean thinks idly, _he's_ the one dying- his is the breath that is a ragged, strangled thing in his lungs. He is the one who should be saying his goodbyes; he is the one supposed to finally utter the one word he has so carefully avoided all these years. He's the one who-

Castiel dips down, arms placed on either side of Dean's shoulders, his lips crushing against Dean's own in a chaste display still new and yet familiar and warm. He can't kiss back, but Dean's eyes, already heavily lidded, sink closed.

They immediately snap open in alarm.

Something cool, something ticklish and light and airy is being pressed through his lips, unbidden by Dean. It's pulled involuntary into his lungs, curling in chest and seeping into his bloodstream, spreading to his fingers and toes and nose. With it comes a new wave of strength and lucidity, and with that, panic.

_No._ Castiel's chest is bumping against Dean's as he drops weakly onto the hunter, hands now gripping the sides of the hunter's face in a steely vice. Dean weakly slaps at his wrists, pushes at his cheeks, writhes under his weight, but it's all too little, too late. Guided by the angel himself, Castiel's essence is being sucked inside, filling him through-and-through at his core. _No, no, Cas, no, please, no-!_

Castiel's head drops limply, pale cheek nuzzling listlessly against Dean's. As he feels Castiel's chest deflate and still atop his own, Dean's vision becomes hazy, eyes prickling. Someone is screaming, and Dean thinks that it might be him. His knuckles turn white as he curls his fingers into the fabric of Castiel's bloodied trench coat.

Sam finds him like that, in the middle of the woods, with the angel's cold body still atop him and tears streaking down into his hair.

~~~

Dean reaches for another ornament out of the box, shaking it free of the styrofoam package peanuts and laying it on his palm to study. It's a crystalline blue colour, detailed with delicate white brushstrokes that form the silhouette of an angel, arms and wings extended. Dean swallows thickly, turning it to look at the bottom, even though he already knows what he'll see. Cas had signed the bottom in his flowing script the day Dean had given him the ornament, now years ago. Dean had gifted it to him as a joke of sorts, thinking Cas would be amused as the depiction of angels as gentle, rove-wearing pacifists, but Cas had gingerly taken it from him, turning it over and over in his hands; his gummy smile brightened his eyes when he looked up at Dean.

_I love it,_ he'd said. He'd paused, and then: _It's the first thing that's really mine._

_Not true_ , Dean had crooned, enamoured with the way his eyes crinkled and shone; he pressed closer and gently took the ornament to lay on the table. _You have me._

_I should have tried to make him smile more_ , Dean thinks bitterly.

His eyes are burning as he hands the ornament off to the expectant little girl. She runs off with it to hang on the tree Sam had cut down earlier that morning, unaware of the weight held in such a fragile thing. Cas's grace thrums in Dean's fingertips, in his veins, stiches in a damaged and torn soul. It's woven itself between every rib and every heartbeat, inextricably becoming part of Dean himself. He bears the weight of Castiel's death in every breath of every day- it seems only right that the reminder should be something as physical as it is visceral.

Dean could break down right now, say _I miss him so damn much_ and crumble into tears and Sam would think no less of him. It might even be cathartic. He doesn't, though, if not for his own dignity then for his brother. Sam has found something special in his girlfriend, something Dean could have never foreseen with the lives they led. He'd taken in her kids as if they were own, to love and to be loved by. It reminded Dean painfully of Lisa and Ben. No, Dean wouldn't be so selfish.

Right now Sam was helping the kids decorate the tree while their mom went out for pizza. Dean watched as Sam uncoiled a string of lights, beginning to wind it around the top of the tree with ease.

_He always said he loved the lights,_ Dean could say. _I could never get him to stop staring long enough to give me a damn hand, even though decorating the Bunker was his idea._

Instead, Dean goes for a walk, intending to hit up the first bar he comes across. Sam watches him leave, sadness and understanding in his eyes.

~~~

Dean's head hits the floor with an almighty _crack_ , tossing his brains about in his skull and lights sparking behind his eyelids like firecrackers. He struggles to his feet, listing dangerously, only to be tackled to the floor by a half-transformed lycanthrope. His silver-gilded dagger clatters across the floor, out of reach as the monster snarls, baring yellowing teeth.

Dean retches as the putrid breath of the werewolf puffs into his face. He shouldn't have gone in alone, he shouldn't have been prideful enough to think he didn't need a partner anymore, he should have left the case to other hunters-

He screams in agony as jagged teeth sink into the delicate flesh between his neck and clavicle. There is a wet ripping sound- or maybe Dean imagines it- as powerful jaws snap into muscle and wrench it from the bone. Dean sucks in a breath as the monster, jaws slavering, saliva and Dean's own blood dripping onto his cheek, sits up on his stomach, licking its lips in a self-satisfied manner.

Dean gives himself three seconds before he desperately lurches for his weapon, halted by the talons piercing through his shirt and skin. They dig deeper, scraping against bone, and Dean can feel his heart pounding in his chest like an old bass drum; he can feel the grace wrapped up inside of him vibrating violently in his chest. 

His thoughts are of Sammy, of his brother and his newfound family, and of his regrets and the apologies he'll never utter. He thinks of the Impala, sitting by the side of the road, cold and empty.

He thinks of Castiel, and his heartbroken blue eyes.

Dean's vision blackens like a bungie cord snapping. No final words, no more struggling; it just ends.

~~~

Dean doesn't remember waking up.

When he startles awake, like shaking out of a trance, he's standing in front of the entrance of the Bunker, his hand already to the parted door. _This isn't right,_ he thinks as he pushes it open and steps inside. _I must be dreaming._

The Bunker is decorated with endless strands of Christmas lights; some winking blue, others red, some a brilliant white. They drape from the stairway, the ceiling, even trailing along much of the walls. Dean's steps slow until he's standing, frozen, gaping at the lights.

He hadn't decorated the Bunker, since-

"Dean?"

Something light and warm floods Dean's chest at the low, gravelly voice; his throat constricting painfully, he steps to the railing and looks down at the floor below him. There, stepping out of the library and clad in some of Dean's old jeans with that same damn beautiful coat over one of Dean's t-shirts, stands Castiel, his expression hesitant, hopeful as he peers up at him. Although the moment holds some of the same surreal qualities as his dreams, this doesn't feel like a figment of his imagination. Dean swallows, opens his mouth to speak, and swallows again.

"Dean!"

Cas is running now, dropping whatever books were in his hands and flying up the stairs two at a time in his haste to reach the hunter. Dean shakily drops to his knees as Cas reaches him, swept up into a needy and breathless embrace.

"I've waited for so long," Cas breathes, scruff scratching lightly against his neck, encapsulating Dean entirely inside his arms. Dean is immobile, his mind still trying to process this turn of events. _This can't be- he can't be-_

"C- _Cas_?"

Cas draws away from him then, steadying hands still on Dean's shoulders. It isn't until Dean sees the dampness under the angel's eyes that he realises he is crying, as well.

"It's me, Dean," he says. "This- this is Heaven."

"Heaven..?" 

Dean casts another glance around the room, at the lights, at the door, and finally settles his gaze back on Cas. That can't be right. He's a man shackled by hellfire, with dreams of peace eternal snuffed out long ago. But... Cas is here, right before him, speaking and breathing. That does seems like Heaven. "It's really you?" He's almost afraid to ask; afraid that this will all morph into a cruel nightmare, or that this Castiel will turn out to be his Heaven's facsimile. Cas only smiles, a shaky, unsure smile.

"I was human, in the end, Dean."

Realisation smothers Dean like a heavy wet blanket all at once. He probes Cas's eyes with his own, his hand reaching to frame the curve of his jaw with hesitant fingers. He abruptly throws himself onto the angel- or, rather, human- enveloping him in a crushing hug.

"I missed you," he whispers, shoulders wracking with silent sobs.

"I know," Cas says, his hands rubbing consoling circles into Dean's back. "You were supposed to live a long life," he frowns reproachfully, pulling away, but Dean hiccups and lurches forward to press a kiss against Cas's lips. 

"Shut up. I have to make up for lost time."


End file.
